


This Loss of Sleep Over You

by orphan_account



Series: A Language In Itself [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5160716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have an early morning,” Trott says.  He’s not sure why he omits the reason: he pictures a familiar head of red-brown hair, a heart-breakingly goofy smile, and squeezes Ross’ hand. ~Hatsome Uni AU</p><p>*CHAPTERS 2-7 ALL NEW*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trott

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, you thought this was finished, did you? So did I.
> 
> It’s not.
> 
> One thing to note is that, true to part one, this will be virtually angst-free. It’s hard to keep myself in line, but there’s something I find appealing about how Dead on Arrival turned out, and I’d like to stay true to the tone.
> 
> [Also, to Siera, I totally said this would be out way earlier than it was. Sorry. :( Real life has been plaguing me.]
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~R

Trott stows Ross’ mug in the sink with a muted clink. He feels a hand on his waist and turns around to meet Ross’ eyes, bright and nearly sparkling in the dark of his flat. There’s a flicker of understanding, one that Trott feels deep within his chest, and Ross leans in. Their lips touching for the briefest of moments, and contentment rushes from Trott’s heart through his veins, warming and comforting him.

And then he remembers, with a sudden twinge of annoyance, that he has responsibilities to attend to. And one responsibility in particular.

“I’ve gotta go,” Trott murmurs against Ross’ lips.

“A little longer,” Ross says.

Trott pulls back, eyeing Ross from a little more distance. Ross’ eyes are deep, solemn, boring into Trott’s. Trott wonders a little at the differences those eyes carry; at times cheerful, at others lively, and still others stormy. He seems to carry a whole world within them.

It’s inevitable. Trott nods slowly, lips quirked upward. The sunniest of smiles crosses Ross’ face, and his hand moves quickly to capture Trott’s.

Trott feels the reassuring warmth of the taller man’s hand. He smiles back, sweetly, and lifts Ross’ hand up to his lips. Ross watches, as Trott brushes his lips against the surface of Ross’ hand. Ross tightens his grip around Trott’s hand.

“I have an early morning,” Trott says, still unwilling to tear his eyes away from Ross. He’s not sure why he omits the reason: he pictures a familiar head of red-brown hair, a heart-breakingly goofy smile, and squeezes Ross’ hand back.

Ross’ free hand cups Trott’s cheek, and he says quietly, “Don’t worry. I don’t want to … rush this. Just stay for a little longer.”

“Of course,” Trott says, and without another word they move together toward the couch once again.

Somehow, Trott is nearly on Ross’ lap, head resting against his shoulder. He tilts his head just slightly, so his ear is pressed against Ross’ chest, and hears the steady thump-thump of his heart.

He marvels at it: nothing more than a muscle, powered by electrical impulses. But if that muscle were to cease, so would the life that filled every inch of Ross, from his bright eyes to his lively step. Trott brings his own hand up, resting two fingers against his throat. And perhaps it is his imagination, but he believes their heartbeats are synced.

He’s not usually one for sentimentality, and he feels a little bit ridiculous about the maudlin direction his thoughts are taking. He drops his hand, grateful that Ross doesn’t question him. He’s content to sit in silence, reveling in each other’s physical presence. Trott feels lucky, incredibly lucky, to experience this.

And there they stay, later than Trott intended, until Ross’ roommate comes bursting through the front door, girlfriend in tow. Then, and only then, does Trott stand and Ross follow him to the front door.

There is no goodnight kiss, but Trott doesn’t feel disappointed. The look in Ross’ eyes as he wishes him goodbye is more than he could have ever hoped for.


	2. Smith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SORRY. I HAVE NO EXCUSE.
> 
> But on the plus side, chapters 2-7 are all complete and will be uploaded together.
> 
> ~R

It hasn’t been that long since Smith has seen Trott, really. But it feels like it’s approaching eternity. They used to see each other every day, when they went to school together. Now they have to steal moments for themselves, and Smith keeps each buried away inside his chest.

The train thunders on and Smith stares out the window, missing Trott and contentedly thinking of him all the same. Trott’s voice is happier when he calls; Smith can hear a sort of confidence, self-assurance, that Trott’s been lacking for years. He seems to have found his place here, learning about film.

And despite how much Smith selfishly misses him, he’s very glad that Trott has managed to find somewhere he belongs.

The trip passes in a blur; Smith doesn’t leave his reverie until the train is nearly at a stop, jerking into its arrival area. He fumbles his phone out of his pocket, and sees a waiting message from Trott. “Let me know when you’re here.”

“Here. :)” he responds.

He’s descending the steps from the train by the time he gets a response. “Meet at the starbucks. Have coffee.”

Smith grins, and his strides become longer as he makes his way through the crowds of early-morning travelers.

He hears Trott before he sees him, and spins around near-frantically, trying to spot him. “Here!” Trott adds, and Smith finally zeroes in on his old friend.

His hair is shorter, and his smile easier, and he’s in the process of standing from a Starbucks table. There are two coffees on the table, and Smith knows one of them is his, just the way he likes it. Warmth blossoms in his chest with the smile on his face.

“Trott,” he says, too quiet for the other to hear him. He doesn’t need to; Smith knows Trott can read his expression.

And so he’s entirely prepared once Smith finally reaches him, laughing as the taller man throws his arms around him. Smith squeezes too tight, he knows, but Trott only laughs a little louder. Smith sighs, breath landing on the nape of Trott’s neck. He knows Trott feels it; the arms around him tighten briefly, then relax in contentment.

They stay like that too long; Smith can feel eyes on his back by the time Trott pulls away. “Better get the coffee before it gets cold, mate,” Trott suggests, and Smith is delighted at the playful sparkle in his eyes.

“Yeah, and we all know how much you need your coffee these days, amiright, mate?” Smith says, gritting his teeth just enough to give an edge to the words. Trott rolls his eyes, but Smith notices the telltale blush high on his cheeks. “Come on, Trott, when do I get to meet your friend?”

Trott sighs heavily, but Smith can tell he’s just laying it on thick. “Smith,” he says, drawing his name out with an irritated whine.

Smith can’t help it; he throws his arms back around Trott. Trott relaxes, and his arms come up around Smith’s waist.

“I missed you, you fuckin’ prick,” Smith says into Trott’s ear.

“I missed you, too,” Trott murmurs. He pulls back after a moment, nervously flicking his hair behind one ear. It’s too short to stay; it falls forward against his cheek. “You’ll meet Ross tomorrow, probably. I’ll see.”

Smith pulls back, sliding into one of the chairs at the table. He reaches out for the coffee farthest away from Trott, wrapping his hands around the warmth. “Well he better be as fucking amazing as you make him sound, mate.”

“Why’s that,” Trott says flatly, voice wary suddenly as he drops back into his seat. Smith rolls his eyes.

“Because he’d better actually deserve you, mate.”

“Oh,” Trott says, and Smith knows he’s not imaging the startled look of pleasure on his face.

Smith sips at the coffee to hide his smile. It’s perfect. He knew it would be.


	3. Ross

Trott didn’t tell him anything about a friend.

They met at his and Trott’s study table, Trott smiling a little mysteriously as Ross approached. Ross was concerned, initially, seeing another man seated with Trott, so obviously intimately familiar with him. But then Trott introduced him, and Ross watched as his eyes stayed crinkled at the corners, whether he was looking at Ross or Smith - and the eagerness in his smile. Trott wants them to get along, Ross sees, and desperately.

Ross wouldn’t be able to bear letting Trott down that way.

Luckily, Smith is easy to like. Ross likes his smile (directed at Trott more than at himself), the cutting humor, the infectious laughter. His is a face made to smile, the curves and edges of it giving him a pleasant expression.

And when Trott leaves the table to pick up their coffees, Smith leans his elbows onto the table, fixing Ross with an intense look.

“Trott is my best mate,” Smith says, and Ross nods.

Smith shifts his arm to hold a finger up in front of Ross’ face. “I like you. You seem like a good bloke. But I’ve got to give you a shovel talk, alright mate?”

A smile tugs at Ross’ lips, despite himself, and he leans in. “Go ahead, then, what’ve you got for me?”

“The usual. You know, you hurt him, I’ll kill you, no one will find the body, and all that.” Ross smirks, and Smith bobs his head as if in agreement. Then his smile takes on a sharp edge, teeth bared. “Seriously though, mate, I am not joking when I say I will fucken kill you.”

Ross smiles sharply back as he nods in agreement. “I fucken believe it, mate.”

“Good,” Smith says simply, leaning back in his chair.

“I won’t hurt him,” Ross adds. “I don’t know if I could.”

Smith’s eyebrows jump up and back down. “Surprised you picked up on that.”

“Well,” Ross says, self-deprecatingly. “He’s very self-contained.”

“You could say that,” Smith says, quietly, and Ross gives him an inquisitive look. Smith only shrugs in response, and in the next moment, he says: “Thanks, Trott.”

Trott sets down a coffee in front of each of them before re-taking his seat. Ross and Smith sip their coffees in silence, and Trott’s eyes dart between them as he peels the lid off his own coffee.

“So…” Trott says eventually, into the silence. “Is this a comfortable or uncomfortable silence?”

Ross snorts, and Smith reaches out to put his hand on top of Trott’s head. “Comfortable silence, Trotty. Learn to read the mood, mate, you’re fucken hopeless.”

“Pot, kettle,” Trott says snootily, but he’s concealing a smile behind the rim of his coffee cup.


	4. Trott

Trott is carrying back their breakfast trays to the common room. He piled up each with coffee and pastries. He enjoys stashing the pastries in his room, so he always brings too many. With Smith here, there may not be any leftovers. “So does he pass, mate?” Trott asks as he approaches Smith, sprawled along a sofa.

“Hmm?” Smith’s face is distracted as he looks up at Trott.

Trott nudges his knee against Smith’s. “Budge over. I know there’s room on the sofa. Sprawling out all over it won’t trick me.”

Smith throws a put-upon sigh before he scooches over to make room for Trott. Trott snorts, well accustomed to such displays. He sets Smith’s breakfast tray on his lap before seating himself. Smith picks at the croissant idly, gaze focused on his coffee mug.

“Smith?” Trott asks. “Does he pass, then?” Despite himself, he’s a little nervous. Did Smith notice something Trott overlooked?

“Oh!” Smith says. He leans back against the cushions, taking his coffee cup with him. “Yes, mate, flying colours.”

Something about his tone causes Trott to look over at him, eyes assessing. Smith’s hair is unruly, curls falling on his forehead haphazardly. His beard is fully rampant; he’s been growing it out, to great effect, Trott believes. Trott’s eyes flicker to Smith’s.

He sees the answer there, Smith’s eyes as guileless as usual. His lashes soften his already unfocused gaze, affection and warmth coloring the depths.

Trott’s lip twitches. He finds himself, to his surprise, entirely unoffended. “You like him that much?”

Smith’s nose scrunches up, rather adorably, Trott thinks. Smith shoves his hair off his forehead, a little grimace on his face. “That obvious, mate?”

“Oh, Smith.” Trott rests his hand on Smith’s shoulder. “How long have we known each other?”

“Right,” Smith says. Then, a little curiously, “You’re not upset?”

Trott waits a moment. His gut instinct is to say “no”, but he wants to be sure.

In his heart, he feels fondness, and possession, for both of them. Now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure what the difference is, or if there is in fact a difference. Just the same care and adoration, burning in his chest like candle flame: bright and clear.

“No, I’m not,” Trott says, slowly. “I love both of you, of course.”

He didn’t know he was going to say it until the words leave his lips, but they feel right when he says them. Smith doesn’t draw away; doesn’t screw his face up in disgust. His brow creases, thoughtfully.

“I . . . I think you’re right,” Smith says, a little wonderingly. “Is it really that simple?”

“I think it can be,” Trott says. “I mean. Do you really . . . have any doubts?”

“Just,” Smith says. “Just, you know, it’s a bit unusual, I think.”

“A bit.”

“Very unusual.”

“It is, that,” Trott says. “But I think we’re, the three of us, always going to be unusual anyway.”

“So . . . is this really happening? Are we really going to do this?” Smith asks.

“We are but two.”

“Is that your really stupid way of saying ‘we should ask Ross’?” Smith asks dubiously.

“Fuck off, Smith. I rescind my statement. I hate you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure you do, Trotty.”


	5. Smith

The wind blows through the courtyard, pushing his curls into his face. Smith snorts, brushing the hair away, but it returns, batting against the tip of his nose.

“‘Ve got to get a haircut,” he mutters to himself.

Trott seems uninterested in his personal problems, going so quickly across the courtyard he’s nearly jogging. Smith is grateful for his longer stride; he only has to speed walk to keep up. Makes him look a bit less of a git.

Trott glances back at him, displeased, and says: “Hurry up, mate. I want to ask the professor a couple of things before class starts.”

“Of course you do, Trotty,” Smith sighs, but he picks up the pace.

“Oi! Trott! Smith!”

Trott pulls to an immediate halt, and Smith smiles even as he rolls his eyes. Bloody hypocrite.

“Ross!” Trott calls out, waving his hand to flag the other man over.

Ross jogs up to them, breath a little unsteady. He’s holding a travel tray of Starbucks drinks unevenly in one hand. Smith notices the tray tipping, and his hand darts out automatically to grip the edge of the tray, preventing them from falling. Ross glances down, startled by the movement.

“It’s good to see you, mate,” Smith says, waiting until Ross looks back up at him before giving him one of his best smiles.

Ross smiles back, dazzlingly, and says: “Glad I caught you before class! Here, I got these for you.” He gestures with the tray, nearly upsetting it again. Smith finds his enthusiasm endearing, affection coiling in his gut.

“Thanks, mate!” Trott says before Smith’s distraction can become too obvious, reaching out to grab the cup closest to him. He gives Smith a little nudge with his elbow as he does so. Smith nearly jumps, but catches himself in time.

“Thanks,” Smith echoes, taking one as well. He takes a sip, not even registering the taste. He’s distracted by the curve of Ross’ dark lashes against his cheek as he blinks.

“So, mate, Smith is heading out tomorrow,” Trott begins. Smith watches as Ross’ face falls, pleasure at the sentiment unfolding in his chest.

“Already?” Ross asks, voice disappointed. His brows draw together in an expression of displeasure.

Smith gives a half-shrug, trying to act casual. If Trott’s eye roll is any indication, he’s laying it on thick. “Yeah, ‘could only take so much time off work. But I’ll be back as soon as I can make it up here.”

“Great!” Ross says, brow smoothing out.

“Anyway, we were wondering if you wanted to get dinner with us, tonight,” Trott says, giving Smith a significant look.

“Maybe at, like, a cafe or something,” Smith adds hesitantly.

“Sounds great!” Ross says. “Text me when you want to meet up!”

“Great,” Smith says, a little too breathlessly.

“Thank you very much Ross, but we’ve got to get going,” Trott says firmly. “Smith, I said I had a question for the professor.”

“Yes, you did, mate. Like twenty times.” Smith fights the urge to shove Trott, but only because he thinks it might perturb Ross. “Alright, see you tonight, Ross?” It comes out as a question. Luckily, Ross answers before Trott drags him off.

“See you tonight!”


	6. Ross

The sun is just beginning to set as the three of them take their seats. Red-golden light glares in through the cafe windows, and the wooden table under Ross’ hands is warm with sunlight.

Trott looks mischievous, Ross thinks. He has done, the last few times they’ve met up. Ross wonders what exactly is going on in his mind, but when he shoots Trott a quizzical look, Trott only smirks and leans back in his chair.

Ross’ eyes shift over to Smith, just in time to catch him sucking a bit of whipped cream off his thumb. Ross suppresses a shudder, leaning back in his chair to disguise any movement.

A worn sneaker bumps his ankle. Ross’ eyes dart back to Trott’s, nervously, but Trott just shakes his head slightly, the smirk still etched into his face. Oh.

Ross clears his throat, but Smith speaks before he can manage to even think of what to say.

“It’s been good meeting you, Ross,” he says, voice quieter than usual. Ross is surprised to realise he’s already familiar with the range of Smith’s tones of voice.

“Yeah,” Ross says, “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”

Smith stares at him for a moment. He looks anticipatory, like he’s waiting for Ross to say something. Ross watches him back, clueless as to how to proceed. Smith seems to deflate after a moment, leaning back in his chair and allowing his shoulders to slump, leaving his coffee on the table. Ross looks down at the mound of whipped cream on the surface of his drink, for some reason afraid to look Smith in the eye.

“Look,” Smith says in a rush. “I think there’s something here.”

Ross darts a look at Trott, but Trott’s smiling that same mysterious smile. Ross clears his throat again.

“Me, um, me too, but I don’t know--”

“Ross,” Trott interjects. He sits up in his chair and leans his elbows on the table. “I’m not angry. I think it’s cute.”

Ross’ face flushes immediately. He’s not sure what’s more embarrassing about the situation - that Trott has put everything together before he has, or that he’s been caught checking out his new - boyfriend’s? - best friend.

But Trott only smiles, batting his eyelashes seemingly unintentionally, and gestures to Smith. “Well, mate?”

They’re both watching him closely, and Ross scooches back in his chair. It makes an obnoxious grating noise against the floor, and he feels as if the blush may never leave his cheeks again. “Well what?”

“Wanna give it a go?” Smith asks, voice gravelly.

Ross is suddenly struck by how quiet the cafe is, the only noise the sound of the barista cleaning behind the counter and the muted noise of traffic beyond the closed doors. Ross bites his lip, eyes shifting from Trott to Smith to back again.

“What … like … all of us?” Ross asks, a little helplessly.

“Yeah,” Trott says.

“Wh--” Ross asks. He’s not sure what he’s even trying to ask, but Trott comes to his rescue, again.

“Why not?”

He feels a little smile break out on his face.

Well.

He can’t argue with that.


	7. All

It’s been about six months.

Six months since they’ve all been together in person.

They’ve kept in regular phone and Skype contact, sent packages and shared the details of their days and weeks and months. But the delight on Smith’s face at the sight of the other two clearly shows just how much they’ve missed each other’s presence.

“You’ve got to see this place,” Smith says, looping an arm around each of the other’s shoulders. “It’s trash, of course, utter garbage, but there’s a room for a king sized bed --” Trott nudges Smith “--yes, Trott, king sized, I’ll fucking talk about it louder if you want to shush me, you bastard.”

“You’re a real arse, Smith,” Trott mutters traitorously to himself.

“Yes, but I’m your arse,” Smith says, rather self-importantly.

“Mine, too, Smith,” Ross insists from Smith’s other side. “We’ve got a timeshare on that arse.”

Smith uses the arm around Ross’ shoulder to drag Ross in, planting a kiss to the side of his face. “Aww, mate, how sweet,” he coos directly into Ross’ ear.

“Fuck off,” Ross says, shoving away from Smith.

“So, how does it feel?” Smith asks then.

“How does what feel?” Ross demands.

“Being graduated. Having a degree. Oh wait, do those things even count as degrees or are they just fancy wall art?”

“Fuck you, Smith,” Trott says laughingly. “You’re in rare form today. What on earth has you so worked up?”

“Like you’d fucking know. We haven’t seen each other in ages,” Smith says. Any traces of bitterness in his voice disappears as he continues: It’s this place,” Smith says. “I swear it’s perfect.”

“All right, all right,” Ross says, “we’ll take a look. At least let us get breakfast first, mate?”

“Maybe,” Smith sighs, but redirects them to the coffee shop near the entrance of the station.

He watches them fondly as they eat their breakfasts in rapid bites, flavour ignored in exchange for speed. He leaves them at the table, going ‘round and buying them each a coffee, before seating himself as well.

Trott finishes eating first, swiping one of the coffees from Smith. He takes a sip and his eyes shut with a blissful sigh. “Fuck, I love caffeine, mate,” he murmurs fervently, stretching his legs out in front of him and into Ross’ space.

“Oi, mate,” Ross snaps, pushing Trott’s wayward feet away with the tip of one shoe. He grabs his coffee as well, taking a deep sip. “Thanks, Smith,” he says.

“Well, someone know how to show appreciation,” Smith says snarkily, but Trott only rolls his eyes in response.

“Give it up, mate. Try it on someone who doesn’t know you as well,” Trott advises.

“Like Ross?” Smith asks as he peels the plastic lid off his coffee.

“I’m catching on to your wily ways, you bugger,” Ross says.

“Fine, fine,” Smith flaps his hand in dismissal. “That’s all fine, mate. But listen, are you guys good to go straight to the place? I want to get your approval, and then we can sign the papers this afternoon.”

“This afternoon? What’s the bloody rush!” Ross asks.

Smith pouts, fiddling with his coffee lid. It squeaks when he runs his fingernail over it. “I just want to move in already.”

“Aw, you’ve missed us, haven’t you, Smith?” Trott asks.

“Go fuck yourself,” Smith advises. Then, muttered: “Maybe I have, fucker.”

“Aw, Smith,” Ross says, voice gentle. “We’ve missed you two.”


End file.
